


Psychopaths Get Bored

by MoriartysToyBoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Roleplay, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriartysToyBoy/pseuds/MoriartysToyBoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unilock</p><p>Sherlock, after Jim breaks up with him to be a ‘free man’, is taken, or more aptly described, dragged by Irene to a party to get him back out into the dating pool. However, neither foresaw an obstacle in the form of Jim Moriarty to be there as well. Sherlock and Jim are both 19</p><p>[Jim is done by me and Sherlock by my RP partner]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychopaths Get Bored

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay done with a friend of mine so the flow of the story reflects on that. I'm English and they are American so I've tried to alter it slightly to fit in with the English way of things however there may be some errors. Also, as the RP is over 1000 emails long there may be some continuity errors that I haven't picked up on. All I ask is that you forgive me!

Sherlock sighed, looking at himself in the mirror, having donned the outfit Irene had shoved into his arms at the end of class. It was, obviously, a rather skin tight one, and surprisingly flattering. However, Sherlock was a bit unsure of whether or not this was a good idea. Jim had only left him about a week prior and while that was plenty of time for Irene, Sherlock wasn’t too sure. Still, the thought of being able to let loose for a night was tempting, and ultimately he knew he needed it. So, he swallowed any apprehension and texted her.

[ Accidentally sent to Jim and Irene] I’m ready. Where’s the party again? SH

Party? Jim frowned at his phone in a confused manner, Sherlock...at a party? He never went to parties. Making a phone call to his ‘friend’ to enquire about any big parties going on in the area, he asked for the address and gathered some clothes together. Pulling on a pair of tight leather pants and a baggy vest, Jim made his way outside with a bottle of vodka in his hand as he called a taxi. He jumped in, gave the man the address and sat down, looking at the world pass by through the window.

Sherlock, eventually getting an answer from Irene, though learning she would be later to the party herself, called a cab and sat back as it lead him to the party at hand. He sighed softly as he realized the car had come to a stop, paying the driver before getting out and walking in. The tight black denim of his jeans attracting quite a few stares and turned heads, and numerous appreciative glances from men and women alike. Though he was far more interested in the former than the latter. He sat down on the couch, after taking a small jello shot and a larger cup of sweet blue...something or another, observing those around him.

As soon as Jim arrived he’d started to drink, a 3rd of the bottle of vodka now gone. He always made a rule to bring his own drink and never let go of the bottle as he didn’t trust any other drink not to be spiked. Words had started to slur together, walking becoming more of a stumble yet Jim had still managed to find himself a guy from the year above, who he was currently dancing with. The guy’s hands were on his arse, lips on neck yet still Jim was mainly ignoring him, eyes darting around as he tried to look for Sherlock.

Sherlock, in the meantime, had found his way onto Victor Trevor’s lap, the senior boy eagerly roaming up and down his body with greedy hands, an even greedier pair of lips marking every visible inch of skin, from neck, to cheek, jawline and to his pouty lips. He leaned in, no longer caring what anyone thought as he let himself relax, alcohol in his system making him feel warm and light, lips on his skin making him feel wanted and alive.  
Growing tired of the groping, Jim pulled away roughly, leaving his partner angry but too drunk to do anything. Continuing to drink, Jim stumbled over to the front room of the house, intending to sit down so he didn’t throw up. When he reached there, the room was empty apart from two boys making out on the sofa, Jim took another chug, grimacing at the two men. “Will you guys get a room, Jesus.” he slurred, his Irish accent growing stronger with the alcohol. 

“We would, but Victor’s gonna take his new boy toy up there.” He said, rolling his eyes before leaning back down to claim the other’s lips once more.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had found himself giggling as he followed Victor Trevor up the stairs, to the quieter upstairs portion and a vacant room. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone but Jim, and he was a bit curious to see how it would feel to be with someone. Hopefully, this time, he wouldn’t be left flat on his back and alone if the other decided to leave.

“Victor? Who’s he fucking now?” Jim asked leaning forward, sneering slightly at the mention of the boy. Victor would fuck anything that moved and if he didn’t get his way he’d happily blackmail people into sex. One of the boys pulled back, “Some Sherlock kid, Victor’s been after him for months.” Blanching, Jim stood up, head spinning as he made his way out of the room and up the stairs. He didn’t care who Sherlock fucked, he didn’t care about him anymore, not one bit. He just wouldn’t let him fuck Victor.

Sherlock sat back on the bed, having finally gotten those godforsaken jeans off, flicking his blue-grey eyes up to Victor. “What do you want to do with me?” he purred, watching the older boy with slight excitement and arousal, but also slight apprehension. He, briefly, heard something coming up the stairs, but he couldn’t be bothered to care as he laid back further, waiting for Victor.

Clutching his stomach, Jim regretted drinking so much, but he shook his head and opened to door to where he knew Victor took all his guys. The bottle of vodka still in his hand, he took in the scene before him. Sherlock was lay on his back with all his clothes off, Victor leaning over him lecherously whilst pulling his own clothes off. The sight itself nearly made Jim throw up but he fought it down and drawled drunkenly, “Not him Sherly, don’t want to fuck him.”

Sherlock snapped his attention over to the drunken boy in the doorway, narrowing his eyes in confusion and annoyance. “Why?” he asked, “Why shouldn’t I when you get to screw anyone you want? Where’s the fairness in that?” he challenged, knowing he must sound petulant and hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at this point.

“Not Victor, anyone but him. He’s a creep.” Jim glared at the older boy, hatred flowing through him as he took another sip of vodka against his better judgement. Drinking had become a lot more frequent after the breakup, now he thought about it.

“You’re the one that burst in here.” he challenged, feeling unbelievably annoyed that Jim had walked in on....whatever this was. “Why do you care? You didn’t care enough to stay, so why should you care if I let a ‘creep’ fuck me. It’s not like anyone else will.” He muttered,

Closing his eyes, Jim rested his head against the wall, “Lot’s of people will fuck you Sherlock. But he,” He pointed floppily at Victor, “Blackmailed guys into fucking him. He’s not even good in bed.” He was so drunk he was scared of passing out. A spinning head and burning jealousy was becoming too overwhelming. 

Sherlock froze, disgust creeping into his stomach as he quickly sat up. "If that is the case, I'm sorry Victor, but I think that I will pass." he murmured, reaching down to pick his pants back up and slip them on. "I think I'll just go home, after I call you a cab." he said, looking to Jim pointedly. As much as the other had hurt and pissed him off, he wasn't going to leave him here drunk off his ass, or make him drive home the same way.

"I'm fine." Jim slurred, looking back up with a smile, staring at Victor. "I can call my own taxi thank you very much. I'm a free man remember!" He exclaimed poking Sherlock in the chest, sipping at his drink some more, "Don't need you, don't need any..." and with that Jim was bent over, vomiting all over Victor's floor.

With a quick look to Victor, seeing his anger, he quickly grabbed Jim, pulling him along. "Fuck it... I'm gonna regret this. But I'm bringing you home until you can fucking sober up."

"Sober?" Jim asked being pulled along, vomit drying on his cheek, "Sober is boring. And I don't want to go home with you. I want to go to my flat." Scrambling out of the man's grasp he finished the last of the vodka, throwing the bottle on the floor, "You can't...can't...Make me."

"Then I'll drop you at your flat." he said coldly. "And then maybe I can actually find someone who'll actually care enough to be around me without having to get drunk off their ass." 

Jim scoffed, wiping the mess from his face, "Says the druggie!" He laughed, ignoring his clenching stomach, "You couldn't stand me without being high."

He paused, looking to Jim, clear hurt flashing on his face. "I got clean because of you..." he said softly, looking away before stopping outside. "Look... I just..." he tried, dropping his hand before digging into his pocket and handing him a few notes. "I think this should cover your ride back..." he said softly.

Clumsily taking the notes, Jim stuffed them into his pocket, "Have fun fucking the entire guest list." He slurred, jealousy fuelling his words, before marching out the door, sticking his arm out and hailing a taxi.

"I just said I was going home." he muttered, walking over a few feet away from him and doing the same thing.

When the taxi pulled up, Jim opened the door and almost fell into the car, telling the driver the address he collapsed into his seat and started to recite Shakespeare as a distraction to the churning in his stomach. Sherlock was about to fuck /Victor/. 

Sherlock climbed into his own cab, telling the driver his address, lying back as they took the quick drive across the large campus, trying to let go of the confusion in his stomach. Why did Jim even care? And how could he not deduce the creep the moment he saw him?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is merely a fraction of the RP, if you enjoyed it/want more please let me know and I'll type some more up!


End file.
